A Trip to Skyrim
by RosetheRabbit
Summary: This is a the tale told by a vampire traveling to Skyrim in search of her friend. Some mature themes in future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

** Hey guys! I'm writing this as I play it out in-game, so feel free to comment suggestions and obscure spots to visit. They may show up in future chapters. I rated this M because of some themes later- we all know how Molag Bal makes vampires... **

To discourage any unneeded confusion, I would like to clarify that I am a vampire. It's a perfectly normal presumption to make of a well versed author, they can write, and eloquently too, so they must be a mortal unfettered by bloodlust and savagery. I was once a beast quite like that, but over the years, I have learned to control my urges. You may have even heard of me, if you are a fan of Porbert Lyttumly's work. But no matter, this is not a story of my past, this is a story of my future, of a journey yet unborn.

I suppose a small amount of backstory would not be amiss…

I was imprisoned long ago, when a group of rather unpleasant men caught me and sold me to another very unpleasant man. His name is not important. He took me to the city of Bruma and locked me in a room with silver walls and a strange retractable ceiling. This was about thirty years after Bruma had been built. I stayed there for a long while, used as a way to force unfortunately ungifted lock picking students to either unlock their talents and escape the room, forgive my wordplay, or to dispose of the undesirables. I admit, I was not yet a mature, controlled being. They left me in that damned room for long years between students, and I did not have the willpower to stay myself. I regret their deaths, and I will always be burdened with their faces and pleading words…

Eventually, the institution seemed to become famous for its thief-craft, and I had companions as often as thrice a week. I started to learn to control the uncontrollable, to silence the burning hunger vampires have harbored since Molag Bal cursed us. I expect my mastery of myself is connected to my origin, for I am no piss-blooded thrall. But all this is just for your understanding, I was in that room until the Fourth Era reared its mundane head. It was no different from any other era, I was still locked in that detestable prison.

I slept in a wooden box, something that kept the slivers of sunlight away from my starving skin. I have a resistance to the energy of the sun, but only when I have fed. It was daytime, so I was in a kind of trance, waiting for the cool embrace of night to stretch out my legs. A girl was thrown into my lair, and I watched as she chose a spot to sit far opposite me. The day dragged on, sun winking and smirking until finally dropping below the walls of the room. Quite lonely, but knowing full well the girl would not appreciate my approach, I simply slid out and sat down on top of the box.

"Hello," she said hesitantly.

"Hello," I replied, a bit nervous myself. I have always battled a certain social awkwardness unbefitting to an ancient creature of the night.

"You're not the deadly creature I was expecting," she said.

I paused and looked at her. She was scared, but determined not to show it. Her light blue eyes stood out bravely against her dusky skin. "What am I supposed to be," I asked.

"I was expecting something a little more… ancient looking. I don't know, maybe wrinkled flesh, sunken eyes, long fingernails?" she laughed shortly, then looked up nervously to gauge my reaction.

"Sorry to disappoint," I said.

Suffice to say, that encounter and many more after is why an ancient and powerful vampire is now traveling to Skyrim to find a frail, yet strangely impressive, human girl. We had escaped together, and yet I lost her to slave traders that trolled the city streets for victims. The men who attacked me were not so lucky, and while I took the time to disable the fools without killing them, the others escaped with my friend in tow. I tracked them to a stinking skeever-den of a hideout, and convinced their leader to spill everything he knew about where she would be. On the way out, he got the bright idea to order his cronies to attack. I was not as kind as I had been on the streets.

So here I am, riding along the Silver Road to Skyrim. There was a stables near the eastern gate of the city, and I was able to buy a beautiful blue roan paint stallion with the gold I looted from the slavers. Horses generally do not appreciate me, but he is no coward, and seems to tolerate my presence atop his back. I hope the creature's generosity lasts.

As we approached the border, a group of imperial soldiers swept out of the mountains on shaggy brown beasts nowhere near as powerful as my steed. They were swaddled in fur up to their eyeballs, yet the imperial brooches pinned to their cloaks flashed and demanded the world acknowledge their presence. I was barely wearing a cloak and yet, being a vampire, did not feel what must have been bone chilling cold. I would have escaped through the pass, but a stray arrow lodged in my beast's shoulder and he fell. Flying through the air, I plowed a trough into the snowy gravel and hit my head on some malicious rocks. Everything became fuzzy.


	2. Chapter 2

When I came to, I was in a wagon with my hands bound behind my back, skin burning lightly in the dappling sun. A blonde Nord sat adjacent from me.

"Hey you, you're finally awake," he said with a sad smile. "You tried to cross the border; walked right into that Imperial ambush same as us and that thief over there."

I glanced towards the grungy man seated next to the Nord and wrinkled my nose. "I almost escaped. An arrow came out of nowhere and hit us."

"That was out mistake lass. Thought you were an imperial."

Glaring at the man, I popped the cloth binding my wrist, letting the fabric flutter through a crevice in the cart. I tuned them out and concentrated on not incinerating in the growing light. The carriage stopped in a village called Helgen, and we were forced to dismount the cart. A bloodied block stood out starkly from the mossy stones and dirt that encompassed the landscape. This would not do.

A dark haired man in imperial armor started listing off names and the prisoners each moved forward to stand before the stained structure. When he reached me, he seemed confused. Conferring briefly with a female officer, he looked up and slowly said, "I'm sorry."

I was about to raise hell and escape, but a huge black dragon descended from the heavens, bellowing his rage and power. I remembered another dragon, long ago…

I ran out of the cottage and saw the world was on fire. A huge, bronze scaled dragon writhed in our clearing, fire streaming from its jaws. He screamed something in an ancient tongue, and I felt his terrible pain. The great ebony claws drug trenches into the earth and his gleaming tail severed and shattered the surrounding trees. What was causing him to act like this?

"Ronica!" a familiar voice called out from the other side of the clearing. "Help me secure the monster." Turning, I saw Weylin trying to push a spear deeper into the trembling muscle where the wing met the creatures back. One hand was spread and straining, casting blood magic in an effort to weaken the dragon.

"Weylin, stop!" I yelled back. "Let him go!" The man's pale face twisted in disbelief, then in rage.

"Do what I tell you, wench," he screamed. "Get the hatchet from the lumber shed!"

I looked at the dirt stained vampire trying to dominate the Dovah, and felt my heart stir. Running for the shed, I grabbed the axe and then careened toward Weylin, nearly getting caught in a jet of flame on the way. He saw me coming and smiled cruelly.

"Quick, hack off its wing," he instructed. I shook my head, lips tight, not wanting to hurt the beautiful creature.

"Let him go," I replied.

"What?" he said wrathfully.

I stepped forward and used the top of the hatchet to shove him backwards. "You heard me," I growled. "Let. Him. GO."

Pulling out a dagger, Weylin let go of the spear embedded in the beast. He ran forward, wildly slashing at my face. I stumbled back, appalled at the man's actions. I should never have made him. The axe in my hand caught in a stray branch, and Weylin chose that moment to strike. Unfortunately for him, so did the dragon. The monster burned to death in one agonized scream. Pivoting, I faced the dragon, towering over me and dripping fire.

"Praan, grah-zeymahzin," he rumbled.

"What." I said eloquently.

He seemed to laugh, a deep volcanic chuckle that vibrated in my teeth. Then growled in pain. Holding his wing out gingerly, the beast settled into a tight crouch, muscles glittering and bulging under his metallic scales.

"I am Vulthuryol," he said.

"Vulthuryol?" I asked, taking care to pronounce the word correctly.

"Yes," the dragon responded, ancient eyes resting on me. "For saving my life, I grant you permission to call upon me if you ever have need."

"You wouldn't be a lot of help like that," I blurted, then clapped my hands over my mouth.

"What do you mean, vulon-lun? Speak carefully." Smoke drifted angrily from his nostrils,

"I mean, I can help heal your wing. If you will let me," I said slowly. The Dovah's golden gaze made me dizzy, but I held his eyes.

"Very well," he breathed, voice hissing and crackling like fire.


End file.
